Cursed Gifts
by icecreamlova
Summary: SotL-era. A moment from Arram Draper's past, involving a near-accident, Ozorne-who-looks-like-he-wants-to-kick-puppies, and a legend of four mages who spun their magic together in a land called Emelan. Slight cross-over, but not really. Oneshot


_This was sort of an experiment on a different sort of cross-over. Instead of moving between worlds (portal, dimensional travel, &c), what if the events of Circle of Magic & sequels had actually taken place in the South & Eastern Lands?_

Disclaimers:

1) All characters, settings and storyline belong to Tamora Pierce and I make no profit. The story idea belongs to me, so acknowledge that if you repeat it somewhere else

2) The names, spellings and stories of Emelan have been subject to Carthaki children and scholars for a thousand years, and as such the story may have been greatly exaggerated and/or changed over time

If I have made a mistake with **Tortall**, however, please say so.

**Cursed Gifts  
**_By icecreamlova_

- : -

Arram Draper was the perfect student: he was smart, he was studious, and he was about to walk into a wall.

Wait...

Arram leapt back hastily from the smooth marble, horribly conscious of his miniscule chances of winning in a fight between his forehead and the wall. That in itself was bad enough in itself--what self-respecting mage would lose to a wall of all things?--but as he slammed the book he'd been interrogating shut, he heard laughter from the more aware members of the university who had witnessed his folly.

Incidentally, he was losing his battle of wits against the book too.

This did not bode well for the future.

"Draper?"

Especially since the heir to the Carthak throne had, apparently, also seen him about to challenge a magically reinforced marble wall to a contest of strength.

"Your highness," Arram turned quickly and swept a low bow, face burning.

His Imperial Highness, Prince Ozorne, Arram knew, was not a nice person. It did not bother him much, because Arram knew that others who compared his habit of explaining new theories, and/or anything else, with the screeching of alley cats, often found him lacking. This meant that Arram spent most of his time in a deserted corner of the university's library.

From what he'd seen of Prince Ozorne's behaviour, Arram had expected some sort of distant remark that you just knew had a malicious double-meaning designed to kick the most adorable of puppies; surprisingly, the prince merely gestured for him to rise. Arram obeyed warily.

He waited for some sort of indication of why the prince had deigned to take interest in a mere mortal. After a few moments, Ozorne obliged.

"You were... very interested in the legend Master Lindhall mentioned earlier," the prince said, after a moment, referring to the lecture both had just left.

"To know the past is to see the future," Arram quoted some scholar he couldn't quite remember and corrected Ozorne in his head: he couldn't actually be very interested in a legend he'd heard nothing of.

The prince started to say something, noticed they were standing stock-still in the middle of a hallway, and began striding forward at a slow pace. He clearly expected Arram to follow. It was only when they were out of sight of the amused audience that his highness continued.

"You were raised in Tyra?" Ozorne asked, although it sounded more like a statement than a question.

"That's correct, your highness," he confirmed steadily, wondering if the prince was as prejudiced as Arram's peers regarding his heritage.

Soft laughter met his answer, but it did not sound derisive.

"That explains it, then," said Ozorne.

"Your highness?"

"The Circle of Four," Ozorne clarified without further prompting. "It's a Carthaki Legend from around the time Old Thak was used, but not well known beyond our borders."

That didn't explain why Lindhall hadn't bothered to expand on it, since the Imperial University accepted many foreign students--from impoverished lads like Arram to nobles such as the late Roger of Conté--unless...

"Is that deliberate, your highness?" Arram asked warily, hesitant to be caught in any business with the faintest whiff of treason or conspiracy.

"Not really," Ozorne assured him. "It's just been lost among the other countless legends until recently. There was little to recommend it as true or false until Lindhall took an interest in the issue of the wider implications of the Gift."

Arram was silent for a thoughtful few seconds. The two young men had reached an exit into an enclosed courtyard paved with grey stone. Yellow-brown dirt piled up in its four corners, presumably from dust that had been liberated from the shoes of students trailing across it. A well-kept shrine to the Graveyard Hag leaned placidly against the wall right across from the arch underneath which the mismatched pair stood.

"Do you consider the legend... the Circle of Four... interesting?" Arram asked, more out of polite manners than any true interest--he wasn't completely unaware of the sort of advantages not offending the prince could bring, the most important being keeping one's head attached to the proper body.

The prince smiled, but whether it was real or feigned, Arram couldn't quite tell. "I've heard if often since childhood, but it has never lost its charm. Perhaps you would like to judge for yourself?"

Drawn despite himself, Arram answered quickly, "Do you know where I might find it?"

Another smile, and an abrupt change of subject that took Arram a second to recognise as the beginning of the legend.

"The story starts a thousand or so years ago," said Ozorne, "when the old empires were crumbling and new kingdoms rising to take their place. The dukedom of Emelan was situated to the southern shores of the Southern Lands, along what was then known as the Pebbled Sea..."

He explained that magic had been different then, or seen very different uses, at least, which had been the factor that attracted Lindhall's attention. Among the famous mages of the time had been the members of the Circle of Four, as related in the epic that told of their meeting, friendship, and further adventures.

At first glance, one would not have gambled on the four even meeting, much less becoming famous together. The Duchess Sandrilene fa Toren had been a close relative of the then-emperor. Daja "Living Metal" Kisubo was a member of the Bazhir tribes that now lived in the lowlands of Tortall. Briar Tattoo Moss had grown up a thief in the Yamani Isles, while Trisana Chandelier was of northern descent and committed to a temple of the Great Mother in Tortall.

For years, their magic hadn't even been noticed.

"But surely," Arram protested, not even noticing that he'd cut the prince off, "if they were so strong..."

"It intrigued Lindhall too," agreed Ozorne, with no expression on his face.

Nevertheless, after regions right below the Great Inland Sea collapsed into civil war, Sandrilene had been sent to the less affected southern dukedom of Emelan, for her protection and to recover from the trauma of the war raging around her.

The other three had been saved by a wandering soul called Niklaren the Golden Eyed.

Daja's tribe had been wiped out by a combination of Stormwings who had rushed to feast on the chaos brought by the wars, but found the tribe in their path, and a freak whirlwind that stranded her in the sea of sand.

Briar had stolen onto a ship between the Yamani Isles and Tortall, been caught upon arrival, and nearly hanged before Golden Eyed found him.

The epic had been somewhat murky about Trisana's reason for her relocation, but historical records showed that there had been a raid on the temple of the Mother Goddess, and despite the efforts of the warrior maidens, had held most of the temple captive before an unimaginable storm razed it to the ground.

The Golden Eyed brought the three to the Temple of Mithros in Emelan, where the four met and became friends.

They'd shown promise early by completing "three divine tasks each" (which, apparently, seemed to have been added on at a later date to the tale) and earning apprenticeships with the Golden Eyed's friends, two priestesses and a priestess. Perhaps the Gods had smiled on them, for their talents meshed. The Weaving-Witch--

"The WHAT?" asked Arram, before he could help himself.

This time, he was certain he saw a glimpse of annoyance on the prince's face. "The Gift, by all accounts, was different then, and this tale tells us as no other."

--Lark taught Lady Sandrilene, for both influenced the world through the manipulation of patterns, most apparent when they spun, wove, or otherwise worked with cloth. Daja Kisubo and her teacher, Frostpine, could channel their magic through the metal of the earth. Briar Moss and Rose Thorn were plant-charmers, who could control green things, and make plants rise up as if they were possessed. But Trisana Chandelier had been the most powerful; she had thrown tempests and lightning.

Magic of such power had been curses, until the Golden Eyed revealed the source of the strange happenings were not curses from the Gods, but, in fact, gifts.

Arram breathed out as he considered this. Lindhall was right, to consider this extraordinary. He had never heard of Gifts so specialised, so suited to only one thing.

The students eventually proved their strength when pirates attacked Emelan, from the Pebbled Sea. The epic had been quite specific in how the four had been drawn, as if by the Gods, to the highest peak of the fortress, and unleashed fury on the attackers. Seaweed had grown explosively to claw at the pirate ships, and vines burst out of thin air, while the metal on the boats "sang" and danced out of the holders, as if dragons had been roaring at the ships. Trisana had woven a shield of lightning around the entire temple to protect them from liquid fire, before summoning a terrifying storm to crush the ships.

According to the legend, however, it had been Sandrilene whose less powerful magic had been the most extraordinary. She had brought a tattered cloth along as an instrument to allow her to touch pure magic itself, as if it were something physical. The epic had been somewhat vague on exactly how she'd done it, except that she "unwove the enemies' spells with her mind's hands" and "spun together the magic of the four powerful children until they were one". The epic had also been unhelpful on what, exactly, becoming one entailed, except forging a close bond and sharing strength, much to Lindhall's apparent frustration.

The Circle of Four dedicated a full minute of reading further explaining how close the four had become, as though they shared a mind and thoughts, before launching into their next adventure, battling forest fires. It also mentioned that many magic workings in the era of Old Thak had been invisible, or, to the few who could observe magic, copper laced with gold.

"The story was riveting," the prince went on to say, however. "As a child, I learned that the four kept the peace in Emelan for their entire generation while the continent struggled. There is more, of course, but that is a tale for another time."

"And this is all legend?" asked Arram, wondering if Ozorne had tired with his long, eloquent lesson--he could TALK. He stopped in front of the small shrine for the Graveyard Hag, and bowed; Ozorne barely glanced at it.

The prince shrugged, as though the question, like so much else around the university, were beneath his notice. "Scholars have confirmed various events in the Circle of Four, and we do know that Lady Sandrilene ruled Emelan for at least decades. There are mentions of Kisubo, Moss and Chandelier... or Chandler, sometimes, in other documents."

"But not of the magic?"

Ozorne nodded, his face an odd mixture of princely pride, scholarly interest, and the usual scheming. "That is correct. The Circle of Four is the only record of this... invisible or copper magic. Perhaps the story was greatly exaggerated, passed down the progressive generations, in the tradition of legends. Details have certainly been changed, since the storyteller himself admits he scribed the events nearly a century after the fall of Emelan, with pieces of contemporary testimonies to work from. The manuscript deliberately stated that the magic of the Four did not come from Gifts, but I expect their Gifts were merely very strong in some areas, rather than a new type of magic altogether."

"To make plants move," murmured Arram softly, his mind filling with the familiar, endless yearning for knowledge that had only grown since his arrival in Carthak, "and make storms brew. The Gods know men would sell their souls for such power." Suddenly remembering his manners--and his vow to keep his head on his shoulders--he quickly turned to address the prince. "Thank you for taking the time to explain to me, your highness."

He only wished he knew why the prince had made the effort to impart this gift of knowledge and possible friendship. Perhaps the heir to the throne was not quite as terrible as Arram had believed?

(That was his first step into the web Ozorne wove.)

"It was my pleasure," said Ozorne placidly. "It is always pleasant to find new acquaintances, especially those as intelligent as you, Arram Draper." He looked up at the noon sky, a faint smile on his face--another enigma Draper couldn't read, or he might have taken the chance to run then and there and saved him the trouble years later. "I look forward to conversing with you again."

"Likewise, your highness," Arram returned. He bowed as Ozorne turned to leave, mind already filling with the promise of learning more, shrouding his earlier, brief misgivings.

His mind buzzing with the stories, and the name of Master Lindhall, Arram thought about the copper and gold not-Gifts--the wild magic he would be truly introduced to by the Banjiku and one day be famous for attempting to prove existed--and legends that could stretch one thousand years.

- : -

END

_R & R, please_

_Note on NAMES. _**Lindhall**: "While it is possible that the Rose Thorn, Golden Eye and Trisana's names have been changed, we have no evidence. Our oldest manuscript is a Tortallan translation that names Niklaren as Goldeye, but this may be a mistake, because all later documents call him the Golden Eyed. It is possible but unlikely that all later works have been mistranslated back into Old Thak from that document. The same applies to Rose Thorn. As for Trisana, damage to our older manuscripts, three of which have been burnt, and one found in the wealthy merchant House Chandler in Tortall that appears to have been _severely_ mauled, means we cannot be certain what her name is. Scholars have debated between 'Chandler' and 'Chandelier', but the prejudiced consensus was that since House Chandler seems to have such enmity for the Circle of Four, and the name Chandler so ordinary, she must have been Trisana Chandelier."


End file.
